Haunted
by yuni30
Summary: The sequel one shot to Set Fire to The Rain. Stein finds himself contemplating his own desires and emotions yet again. And to aid him in his understanding, a friend who he was desperately clinging onto the memory of helps him understand.


He had been released from the care of the hospital. His condition had greatly improved over the weeks of his stay. At least that's what he thought. Though they had ordered him strict bed rest until a certain time had passed, he refused to comply. He knew the weaknesses of his own body and knew he could handle a little extraneous movement.

That didn't matter, though. It was in the past; what he needed to focus on was the present. He was at, yet, another hospital. It wasn't for his health. It was for his weapon. She was laid up in the hospital due to a flaming catastrophe in his lab. He had saved her. He was convinced it was because it was for moralistic reasons rather than the more intricate ones his former partner had suggested. The woman was in danger, and no one would want to see Lord Death put to rest one of his own personal weapons.

That was it. He was sure of it. He approached a nurse behind a counter on what was the third floor of the building. "Excuse me, could you direct me to Ms. Mjolnir's room," he requested. The nurse looked up at man in question. Her eyes went wide in shock, possibly at the scar on his face or the screw in his head. "Uh… Do you need any medical assistance sir" she half exclaimed, half asked.

He scowled. "No, I do not. The screw is for my sanity," he informed inferring on what she meant. The nurse raised an eyebrow and then looked at the computer in front of her. "Third room down, on the right, sir," she finally answered, trying not to look up at the deranged scientist in front of her. The man nodded and walked down the bleak walls- a white wash, it seemed.

He entered the room of the ill-fated Death Scythe. Though his expression did not display it, he felt a tug in his chest, his heart. He suppressed his concern and worry. He walked toward the bed, his weapon unconscious of his presence. He noted the respirator, one similar to that of which he had used to breathe through. Monitors read different things- ranging from heart rate to brain function.

He took a deep breath and sat on the vacant space in the sterile hospital bed. "Hello, Marie. I came to check on your condition," he said, a slight shudder in the monotonous tone in his voice, hinting the feelings he refused to emote. He took in another deep breath of air. He was doing his best to shut out the irrational feelings that whirled inside him. A storm was destroying his blockade set up by his own seemingly cold and meticulous mind.

"Stein…," the blond breathed out, good eye still closed. The other was covered with a pseudo eye patch- her other one having been removed by the hospital. Stein blinked at the weapon. "I doubt from your lack of sound that your condition is well," he hypothesized. There was no reply from the Death Scythe. He extended an arm and pressed his index and middle finger gently against the middle of her chest. The damage was still bad, and he didn't need a machine to tell him that.

"Yes, you're not doing well at all," he confirmed. He looked up at the various machines, noting the different meanings of what the acronyms meant and average of each of them. He moved his arm back to his side gently. "Thank you… For coming to see me…," the blond breathed again. She shakily extended her left hand and touched the mad man's cheek. He nearly flinched away, not understanding the meaning of her actions; he remained still. She was hurt and needed someone other than a doctor to see her. She needed a friend.

Finally, he sighed. "You'll be alright, Marie," he mumbled almost to himself. "Maybe not in physical state, but in the state of your soul, you'll be alright." He closed his eyes, sighed again, and turned his screw. "Unfortunately, you are not in my care, and the DWMA has none of the necessary recourses that I would need for your treatment. It is up to the doctors of the hospital," he cited off, possibly talking more to himself than the woman in the bed.

There was no response. The machines chirped on, mechanical birds unaware of the person they were attached to, reporting the condition of the person to all in the white meadow. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more," he groaned, disappointment finally making itself apparent in his voice.

The birds began to squawk in alarm; something was terribly wrong. The scientist noticed the sudden noise and shifted his gaze to his weapon partner. Her body was shaking violently. It was comparable to the kind of muscle spasms his madness would induce- dangerous, almost lethal tremors within the body, betraying the soul who owned it. The difference was the breathing.

Alarmed at the erratic movements of the weapon, he removed himself from the bed. He looked at the monitors, then at the woman in danger. He briskly walked out of the room. "I need some assistance in here," he called out, expecting to be of some use. A rush of the hospitals own doctors sped to the room. He retreated into the room before them, taking note of her worsening condition. "Her heart rate's up, she's breathing erratically," he began to list off what he knew and various other possibilities that could be related to her sudden hyperactivity.

To his shock, he was pushed out of the way, away from Marie. They clamored around her and performed what he knew were standard hospital procedures in a case like Marie's. He watched on, calculating what was going on. There was no way she was going to live- happily at least. "Stop," he commanded. They ignored him. "I said stop," he commanded once more as he barreled through the throng of doctors. He was met with a little but easily fought off restraint and sprawled himself over the dying hammer.

"Foolish doctors… There's nothing you can do. She's as good as dead," he growled as he glared at the staff of the hospital. They looked at him surprised and somewhat angry. They tried to pry him off of her, but his death grip tightened on the edge of the bed. He was grief stricken, but he didn't show it. Only the dying weapon knew his pain.

Gruff looking guards entered the room and tried to pry the meister off the bed. They were no match, for he had activated his Soul sutures through the use of his partner's soul. She had calmed considerably, her body finally accepting its fate.

"I will not leave you to these doctors," he muttered in his struggle to stay with her. The thought of her being subject to several tests gave him more of a reason to cling on her. He tried to convince himself of his logic for his actions. He had to find the logic in it, for it was all alien to him as to why he was reacting in such a way. Why did he cling to his dying partner like this?

Memories of his hallucinations during the Kishin's existence flashed before him: desperation to save Marie from her fall, him failing to catch her. It was that same desperate feeling that had crossed him in his plight. "I won't let you die like that… I _will_ be by you when you fall," he thought as he heard the noise dull.

The birds in the white meadow began to fly away silently, carrying their cries with them. He felt her soul comfort him one last time, as if to say, "It's all right…" He clenched his teeth behind a firm and indifferent expression. He knew it wasn't. She was leaving, taking her comforting wavelength with her. The wavelength he had come to accept and used to quell the horrid insanity in his soul. He wouldn't let her go.

His brow furrowed as the last bird in the meadow sat alone, practicing its cry in a monotonous way, it having driven the others away with its practice. He saw her soul rise from her chest, and he felt his sutures begin to weaken. He grabbed for it in frenzy, as soon as they broke. His fear no longer was that they would tamper with the body of Marie Mjolnir, but that her soul would remain in the hospital forever.

He placed the soul in a small glowing green net and pocketed it in the left pocket, just next to his favorite scalpel. The hospital staff never knew of his actions, for they were not meisters or weapons. He was seized by the arms by the security officers and hauled away. He glanced back at the staff, trying to bring the now soulless body back to life, smirking. They would never be successful.

After a few weeks of dealings with the police, court, and the acquittal of the legendary meister- due to Lord Death's influence in the legal system-, he returned home, still in possession of the soul of his dead weapon. He traveled deep within the lab and placed the soul within a safe where no one could get it. He'd be damned if he let anyone, including Death himself, get a hold of her soul. He needed the stability.

He resided within his lab in what he knew was peace. His mind was stable, as was his soul. And it would continue to be that way.

Or so he thought.

He lay in his bed, a slight bout of insomnia over him. "Let me out," a cry echoed through the lab. He mistook for one of his test subjects. He just shrugged it off. The cry echoed again and a ghostly chill befell the interior of the lab. He shivered under the sheets and pulled them closer to his body for warmth. "I can't stay here," the voice cried, louder this time as if it were in his room. He clenched his teeth.

"Stein," it called, this time in his ear, eerily familiar. He heard it again, the unmistakable voice of his dead weapon.

"You're dead...," he stated factually. His pulse rose, the anxiety of being watched washed over him.

"Yes, I am. But I am also alive... as a ghost of the lab. You should have taken me to Lord Death," she scolded angrily, yet in the soft way everyone knew her to have.

"You know I couldn't do that," he shot, frustration evident in his voice.

"Yes, you could. You could have let go, Stein," she shot back.

Stein felt his body shake in both fear and frustration. He felt sorrow as well, but he tried to at least compress that emotion. He found that he couldn't find the strength to do that and immediately began to question his logic. He wrapped his arms around his bear shoulders. "Why can't I control myself?" The emotions he had suppressed had overtaken his will.

"You feel guilty, don't you, Stein? You should, you deserve it for keeping my soul captive," the former weapon explained coldly. It caused the scientist to shiver more in fear. The fear of the Grim Reaper finding out about keeping a soul bound to the lab. The fear of what she might do in her new phantom like form.

The flood of emotions were too much for the scientist to take. He couldn't hold it down. Something about Marie's wavelength had always made him more vulnerable to them. He bared his teeth as he shakily reached up to his screw. He didn't know whether it was madness or if it really was Marie's soul.

The clicking of the bolt didn't erase the feelings that were so heavily bearing down on his soul. He doubled over, now giving all his strength to force them back. His teeth started to chatter, squeaks of pain emitting from him. "I-I couldn't let you go... I needed your wavelength... I needed it to keep the madness from tearing me apart," he shouted, agony in his voice.

"What makes you think I ever wanted to leave? I don't want to stay in this form forever, that's all," she reassured him, slightly afraid of the tormented state he was in. The tormented state she had forced him into. "I'm sorry, Stein. But what you did wasn't right," she added.

He sat there, his stare almost daze like in nature, save for the constant change of emotion that had obliterated the already damaged blockade in his mind. He still didn't understand the reaction the very presence of Marie's ghost had on him. All he knew was his stress levels were dangerously high and there was nothing he could do to lower it.

"Go away," he brought himself to say. "Leave me be... I need to recollect myself," he ordered feebly. He knew the repercussions of keeping a soul in the lab, but he didn't expect the toll would draw on him so effectively. He felt the slight presence of her leave his room. The temperature rose considerably.

The shivering ceased after a few minutes. He shook his head vigorously and reached for his death sticks on his nightstand, along with his stitch covered match book. It was the only thing to help him regain his control of his once compartmentalized mind- his emotions locked tight in a drawer.

"Why," he muttered to himself. He clawed at his own face. "Was it her soul wavelength that caused me to break down in such a way?" He shook his head again. "I don't know what to do... I just didn't want to lose that wavelength, that calming and accepting wavelength," he reasoned. His eyes narrowed in furious concentration.

"_Stein, you act differently around her. You seem less cold. If you really didn't care, you would have never let her stay with you in your lab. You would have pushed her away the moment that she started adding some touches to your place. You know you need her, Stein."_

The memory of Spirit's words hit him like a brick. "I'm less cold... I let her stay... I never pushed her away, and now I'm fighting to keep her," he pulled from his _other_ former partner's words.

"_You love Marie. You risked your own hide to save her. The building was on fire, and there was little chance of you going in there and making it out alive, yet you still tried to get her out."_

"Damn it," he shouted to the seemingly empty lab, banging his fist on his stitched up nightstand. "That's why I reacted! I couldn't save her! These emotions are all stemming form one place, guilt," he desperately hypothesized.

"Stop running," she called softly from within the house. "And stop fighting your emotions. You'll die from stress," she warned playfully, as if she were still physically with him.

He shivered once more at her voice. He heard his own words echo in his head, the words that he tried, feebly, to deny the claim of Lord Death's weapon of choice.

"_I couldn't care if she left, not at all. I wouldn't care if she took all her things and decided she had had enough of living with me. She's just another person that needed to be rescued. That's all Spirit!"_

He clenched his teeth at the bitterness of his own mind. "If she _was _another person in need of assistance, then why haven't I let go, besides the obvious reasons? How come that protective feeling hasn't vanished," he questioned, smoky skulls rising from his death stick. "What am I doing...," he queried again as he lay back down in his bed. Spirit's words echoed again through his mind.

"_Suppress your emotions like you always do. Dissect them, analyze them, do what ever you want with them. Just know that no matter how much logic you place behind it, you'll never be able to explain them. They're just there, Stein."_

The tense feeling in his body vanished as he remembered the red head's words. He took a alight breath in through the death stick and blew out a Death mask. "There is no answer." he concluded. "This new emotion... it's love."


End file.
